


Waking Up in Vegas

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Accidental Marriage, America is a Dork (Hetalia), Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), Implied Sexual Content, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24945232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A G20 meeting in Las Vegas takes a turn when America wakes up in a hotel room, next to Russia, with a ring on his finger.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

America waked up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. His whole body felt sticky with sweat, the air conditioner in the hotel room only doing so much to fight the Vegas heat. Groggy and disoriented, he rolls over with a groan, feeling the other side of the hotel bed for his phone.

But his hand did not come in contact with the familiar plastic case of his phone, no, it touched something undoubtedly solid and soft like flesh.

Stiffening, the young nation slowly lifted his head to see who was on the other side of his hand.

Immediately, Alfred shrieked and drew his hand rapidly back to his chest as if he just touched a hot stove. “Russia? What are you doing in my hotel room?” he demanded his voice only cracking slightly. The large man groaned, not enjoying having his sleep ruined. He slowly sat up, still obviously drowsy from sleep, his skin was covered in a layer of sweat and his hair was ruffled, sticking up in different directions, he looked like a mess. Alfred didn’t look much better.

“This is my hotel room,” he grumbled, giving Alfred an unamused glare, he lifted his head to stare at Alfred. Russia paled, his eyes shrinking, and in a matter of seconds, he had leaped from the bed and barreled towards the small trash can by the dresser. The sound of gagging and the smell of vomit almost made Alfred feel nauseous himself.

Instinctively, Alfred clutched the sheets closer to his nose to cover the smell. He watched Ivan from afar, studying the old scars on the nation’s back that disappeared into his sweatpants. He bit his tongue in distaste at the fresh bruises that marred Ivan’s shoulders and neck. It was unusual for Ivan to get sick from drinking, he’s never seen Ivan hungover before, he figured it just plainly didn’t happen. But he supposed Las Vegas made everyone act a bit differently.

Frowning, he tried to remember what exactly happened last night. Blurry memories of stumbling through a neon casino wormed their way into Alfred’s mind only to be interrupted by the insatiable desire for water. He needed to get something to drink, lifting up the covers- he paused, he wasn’t wearing any underwear, he was completely nude. His face became heated with a blush as his brain began to connect the dots.

Panic sat in, why was he naked? Why was he in Russia’s hotel room? Why was he sharing a bed with Russia? There must be a logical reason for all of this, he reasoned. Maybe Russia let him in his room for some platonic bed-sharing, maybe he got hot and decided to strip? Oh God, if Matt found out he’d never let him live it down if Arthur found out he was going to have a panic attack, and God forbid François found out.

Still, he needed to get water and for now, he needed to focus on that, he could figure everything else out later. He glanced at Russia, still hunched over the trash can, looking dizzy and out of it. He couldn’t let Russia see him naked, that would be embarrassing. Alfred wasn’t as casual about nudity is many of the other countries were. From a young age, he had been instilled with the puritan value of modesty. While he has since forgone a focus on humble living, he still felt a sense of shame at the idea of walking around nude around someone else. He nervously looked around for his shorts or underwear on the nearby floor. Much to his horror, the khaki shorts he had worn yesterday were haphazardly thrown on top of the floor lamp several feet away and his underwear laid on the ground not too far from the map. There was no way to be casual about this.

Russia’s coughing had died down to the occasional wheeze and he was now sitting in a crouch. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to America, fully engrossed in his own thoughts. Taking the opportunity, America stumbled out of bed, pulling the coverlet around his whole body like a giant blanket cocoon as he walked past the Russian to get to the bathroom. Russia only scoffed as he passed, too tired to even remark on Alfred’s dramatics.

Once in the bathroom, Alfred closed the door and let the blanket fall letting himself be exposed once again. A sense of numbness filled him as he turned on the faucet and began shoveling the cool water into his mouth with his hands. When his thirst was quenched, he turned off the faucet and took stock of his own appearance in the mirror. The first thing that he noticed was that he looked like a blobby mess; where were his glasses?

He turned his attention downward, recognizing dark bruises on his own chest and neck, he blushed. He couldn’t think about that right now. As he lifted his left hand to touch his face, he finally noticed a large, clunky ring on his ring finger. The ring was made of a thick black plastic, on the center of the ring was a bright yellow smiling face. He scowled; Drunk Alfred certainly had a sense of humor.

The door opened, Alfred shrieked, grabbing the blanket again as fast as humanly possible.

"Dramatic,” Russia’s voice came out as a weak rasp.

“Have you ever heard of privacy?” Alfred said, his voice strained.

“This is my bathroom.”

America gave Russia a hard look, noticing that Russia also had a ring on his finger, a very familiar ring.

“Hey! That’s my class ring from MIT!”

* * *

Ivan just wanted some water, why did America have to be so difficult? The vomit had left a nasty taste in his mouth and he desperately needed something to cleanse his mouth and he wasn’t going to let America hog the bathroom any longer.

He pushed his way to the sink, ignoring the indignant American and methodically grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it with water. He gurgled the water several times until the taste was out. America, for once was quiet, his arms folded in a pout still holding onto that ridiculous coverlet as if he hadn’t been sleeping naked next to Ivan moments before.

Admittedly, Russia had no solid memory of the night before. And this unsettled him, while he did drink a lot it was never to the point of blackout. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had gotten that drunk, it must’ve been decades ago when the Soviet Union dissolved.

Russia was a rational man. He wasn’t stupid, he noticed the dark hickies that spotted America’s body and he knew that there wasn’t a platonic reason they had been in bed together. And despite it unsettling him, the logical part of his brain knew he was the one who left those marks on America. He could only remember glimpses of that night, the loud sound of the slots going behind him, the smooth sound of a jazz singer, the soft press of lips-

“This is your fault,” he snapped at America. It had been America’s turn to host the G20 meeting and of all the places in his country to choose to have a meeting, he chose Las Vegas. Not New York City, not Washington D.C., or any other suitable city in the United States, he chose the so-called ‘City of Sin’ itself.

America for what its worth, flinched. “I’m sorry that I wanted to spice up our normal summits and make these meetings actually entertaining,” America said heatedly, “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“More like an excuse to show off your wealth,” Russia argued, a cruel smile twitching on his lips. Russia knew that America was trying to rile him up, he had hosted the previous meeting in St. Petersburg the year before. “It’s a pathetic display of pure hedonism.”

An unsteady silence filled the room.

“I’m going to get dressed,” America said tightly, exiting the bathroom.

Russia rubbed his hand down his face, pushing off the counter and heading back into his hotel room. America was shuffling around the hotel room, now dressed in the khaki shorts and the ridiculous red Hawaiian shirt he had worn last night. He peered underneath the bed and lifted the covers several times over, obviously searching for something. If Russia didn’t know better, he’d think that America was beyond pissed off about something, his eyes were set in a deep squint and his mouth was pressed into a firm line.

“Looking for these?” Ivan plucked the pair of glasses from the TV stand and handed them to America. The blonde gave him a grateful look as he pushed the frames on, his gaze softening away from the previous scrutinizing expression.

“Have you seen my phone?” he asked lightly, all tension from their previous conversation apparently gone.

Ivan rolled his eyes, “I am not the keeper of your phone,” he said in a light cheerful tone, pulling a discarded shirt over his head.

America pouted, “C’mon man, not helpful,” he shuffled his feet, “It has all my cards on the back of it,” he added quietly.

“Your hotel card?” Ivan clarified, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, and my driver’s license and credit card…”

"It's almost like you want to stay here," Russia sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, America gawked. Just like America to secure his cards in such an unsafe fashion, irresponsible. Exhaling, his removed his hand, “I am going to go take a shower, da? When I return if you still haven’t found your phone, I’ll help.”

* * *

As Russia showered, Alfred diligently looked for his phone. Under the desk? No. In the sheets? No. Underneath the window curtains? No. On the floor? No.

Anxiety simmered at the surface as his searches ended in vain. He couldn’t have lost his phone! All of his important contacts were in his phone and how would he get into his hotel room without his hotel key or ID?

With a puff of steam, Russia left the bathroom. His sweatpants were replaced with plaid pants, a black turtleneck pulled to his elbows, and his signature scarf.

“I don’t know where my phone is,” Alfred said blankly.

Surprisingly, Russia didn't respond in immediate anger, he looked thoughtful, “We can ask the front desk if they found a phone after you take a shower,” he wrinkled his nose, “you stink.”

Alfred’s face turned red, ready to retort when Russia pressed a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt into his hands. “You can borrow my clothes for now until we get back into your room,” he smiled cheerfully, pushing Alfred into the bathroom.

Alfred basked in the cool stream of water from the showerhead. He decided to just use the hotel’s complimentary shampoo and soap as opposed to Russia’s products. He didn’t want to upset Russia by borrowing his things without asking or give Russia the sick satisfaction of smelling like him. He massaged the bruises, feeling how tender they were. Alfred was never drinking again, no matter how much water he gurgled in the shower, his throat still felt dry and it certainly wasn’t worth whatever the hell happened last night.

Turning off the faucet, he stepped out of the shower, careful to grab the clean towel off the rack to dry himself off. He looked at the clothes Russia gave him with a frown, did Russia never get hot? Or did he not own any warm-weather clothes? He pulled the sweatshirt over himself, rolling the sleeves up so he doesn’t die of heatstroke in case he has to wear these longer than expected.

Being that they were Russia’s clothes, and not Alfred’s clothes, they didn’t fit him right. Russia was taller and bulkier than Alfred, he was a big block of mass. While Alfred was tall and his body type fluctuated between athletically fit and soft chub, he still too small for Russia’s clothes. Currently, Alfred was in a bit of an in-between stage, he wasn’t muscular and fit, but nor was he fat. In his own jeans, his love handles had no problem introducing themselves and he had a bit of fat on his belly. The sweatpants were far too long and wide for him and he had to tie the strings tightly to keep them on.

He longed for his own clothes. He fumbled with the clunky ring that he woke with, feeling weird if he discarded it for some reason. He’d need to get his class ring back from Russia, that commie wasn’t going to keep it. He tucked away the smiley face ring in the jean’s pocket.

His stomach rumbled.

“Can we get McDonalds afterwards?” he asked.

A sigh, “Fine.”

* * *

“No, I’m sorry we haven’t received any lost phones,” the clerk shot a sympathetic look to the pair. “But do you have a driver’s license or another form of identification? We can give you a new copy of your key.”

The American embarrassment, rubbing the back of head with his hand. “They were all on my phone.” “How long are planning on staying with us Mr. Jones?” the clerk asked.

“Three more days, I’m attending a conference at the Las Vegas Convention Center,” he chewed on his lip, “I can try to contact my boss if that helps my case, the hotel is under the agency name anyways.”

She nodded, “that will work, if you can have them call the front desk, we can prepare a new key for you and grant you access.”

Russia sighed, he was going to be stuck with America. Of course, he could always leave him here, and tell him he was on his own but truthfully, he didn't mind being around Ameirca. 


	2. Chapter 2

Russia was sweltering under the Las Vegas heat; he was sure within five seconds of leaving the hotel pit stains were already leaking through his shirt. He’d never admit this to America though, the other man made a quip about his clothing choice in the elevator.

America walked like a man on a mission, not falling in line with Russia, even though it was the polite thing to do, his steps were confident and swift.

Despite not walking alongside him, America still felt the need to blabber away about Las Vegas history and whether or not The Godfather's depiction of the mafia’s involvement was accurate or not. Occasionally, he turned his head to see if Russia was paying attention or not.

“There’s actually a mob museum here,” he said, his lips quirking in a friendly smile.

Wasn’t America tired? Russia’s headache was killing him and he still couldn’t quite get the taste of vomit out of his mouth, and it wasn’t making his journey to McDonald's any easier. 

Google maps had told Russia that the McDonalds was only fifteen minutes away by foot, but it certainly felt like it was taking longer than that. The sidewalk wasn’t really crowded, as far as he could see but the road next to him was busy with cars and he was reminded how not pedestrian-friendly many American cities were.

Finally, Ivan could see the golden arches peeping out behind a building, followed by the greasy smell of McDonald’s breakfast, and an enthusiastic shout from Alfred.

“I would like,” he squinted at the menu, “a hashbrown and an egg mcmuffin, please.”

“Oh! And can I get the pancake breakfast, a coffee, and a yogurt parfait?” America shot Russia a sheepish, apologetic smile, “I’ll pay you back?”

Russia paid for the meal with a polite smile to the cashier and took his receipt, turning to see America standing in front of a booth, enthusiastically talking to Germany and Italy of all people. 

“- No, yeah, I was all in for Sammie to win, yeah no the Joey win was totally unexpected but big props to that dude. He’s a good guy,”

Italy bobbed his head along with America’s conversation, “Yeah, thanks for recommending it to me, America! I really liked Shubam-”

Russia stood awkwardly behind America, unsure if he should interject and steer America to a booth or go sit somewhere else. He felt a pang of coldness in his chest. Did America not want to sit with him? He suddenly found himself thinking, even fiercer he wondered why did he care if America would rather sit with Germany and Italy, it wasn’t like he and America were friends. Another part of himself reasoned that he did pay for America’s meal, and that it would be only polite to join him for breakfast.

He caught Germany’s piercing blue gaze. He stopped himself from frowning, he didn’t like Germany. The man was as righteous as America and he wasn’t even charming about it. Perhaps his memories were too tainted by the past century, or of his experiences with Germany’s brother, but he found the man insufferable to be around.

“It’s a pleasure to see you Germany,” he said in faux cheer. “Don’t you think it’s impolite to stare?”

America and Italy paused in their animated conversation, Italy looked confused and America turned to Russia with a frown.

The German looked embarrassed, a light blush crossing his features, and he cleared his throat, “I apologize Russia, I was just surprised to see you getting breakfast with America. I didn’t think you even liked McDonalds”

The blonde next to him flushed, “Oh well, uh, Russia and I, uh, just bumped into each other in the lobby, figured I’d invite him!” he stammered out. Ivan rolled his eyes.

“Oh, that’s so nice of you!” Italy said obliviously.

“Yes, well-“ Germany began.

“-Order for Ivan!” the cashier yelled from across the restaurant, mispronouncing his name in an obnoxiously American matter.

“Why don’t you get the food, da?” Ivan turned nearly pushed Alfred away from the booth. America threw a quick ‘see ya’ over his shoulder before walking a little too fast to get their order.

Germany stared pointedly at Ivan still.

“As always, it was a pleasure talking to you,” Russia said with a forced smile and left to sit at a new booth.

A silence fell as they ate, Russia tried to reflect on the past evening’s events. He couldn’t grasp any solid memory, just flashes of scenes. A man dancing disjointly with him, giggling in his ear as he pressed kisses along his jaw, looking into that man’s eyes and-

“Do you remember anything about last night?” Alfred interrupted his thoughts again.

Russia frowned, “No,” he chewed on his hash brown, “just the slots and drinking.”

America looked hesitant, “Anything about chapels?” 

He stopped chewing.

_He could barely pay attention to the pastor; his gaze wandered the small chapel taking in every detail. He vaguely wondered where his sisters were, they ought to be at his wedding- he even tried to focus on why they weren’t there. Belarus would make fun of the carpet he was certain of it, and Ukraine- A warm hand touched his own, he felt himself centered again. Oceanic blue, so deep and yet so welcoming-_

“No.”

Alfred ducked his head away looking nervous, “I do.”

_He said the words with as much conviction as his drunk self could handle._

_Feebling hands, too eager exchanged the rings. Freckled hands- Alfred’s hands, his brain supplied- grasped his own, he felt the new weight of the solid ring resting on his finger. He tried to focus as he pushed a ring onto the other man’s hand. It felt right, he felt good, and warm. The sudden press of lips, so tender and calm despite their earlier impatience-_

Alfred plucked something black and clunky from his pocket, a ring. “You gave this to me.”

_Stumbling, grasping the wall for support as he held Alfred close. Kissing the man’s ringed finger, over and over, “I love-“_

“You must be mistaken.” Russia suddenly didn’t feel like finishing his hashbrown, he felt his stomach open in a cold pit of dread.

America pressed on, “I gave you my class ring.”

Moving his hands to grasp Russia’s.

“Alf-America, stop-“

“Ivan, I think we got married.”

Damning blue eyes met purple.

Stillness.

Russia yanked his hand away from America. He couldn’t find words. He stood up, pushed his chair in, “no, we did not.” 

Germany and Italy were staring at them from their table.

He felt his chest tighten up, he needed to leave. “We didn’t-“ he paused he couldn’t handle talking about this, not right now, and certainly not in this disgusting McDonalds, not with Italy and Germany so close, “we will talk about this later.” He felt like he was suffocating even after he was able to exit the McDonalds.

He certainly didn’t turn when he heard an exasperated, ‘Russia!’

Now leaning against a wire fence, he fumbled for a cigarette and lit it with the quick precision of a seasoned smoker. He took a drag, exhaled. Ivan refused to believe that he would let himself degrade so far, even when piss drunk. He hated America, all the way to his core. America was self-centered, materialistic, and nosey- there were no desirable traits there at all. But it hadn’t always been like that, an evil voice seemed to whisper in his ear.

Distantly, Ivan could remember a time when he and America had a different relationship. When he longed to visit the warmer nation, days of fishing and walking through the vast wilderness, days spent touring and gushing over new innovations at world fairs, when the warmth was a welcome hug and not the oppressive heat of Vegas.

“Dude, are you okay?” America broke his thoughts, standing with a McDonalds bag in hand and a bit more of a passive look than Russia was used to on his face. “You left pretty quickly…”

“I needed a smoke,” Russia said simply. Perhaps to piss America off, “borrowed money from Germany for that?” he flicked his gaze to the bag, a cruel smile spreading on his face. He wanted to call Alfred a fat pig and make fun of his never-ending greed and ceaseless appetite for cheap food. 

“No, uh, this is, actually the rest of your breakfast sandwich, I, uh- you paid for it, ‘figure you’d want it?” he shook the bag.

Russia’s smile fell, he took another drag.

“We need to talk about it at some point.” America tried again.

Russia never thought he’d be grateful to see Germany appear in his life, but there was always a first for everything. Germany in his tense awkwardness stood, paused at the entrance door to the McDonalds with Italy hanging on his arm.

Oblivious Italy shouted with a wave, “America! Want to join me and Germany on our trip back to the hotel?” he noticed Russia, “oh! And Russia you can come too, if you want!”

America looked torn, disjointedly, he dropped the McDonalds bag at Russia’s feet and turned to give Italy and Germany his signature hero smile that never quite made it to his eyes. “I’d love to!” 

“I am fine, thank you,” Russia said not wanting to be the fourth wheel- if there was such thing- to their awkward trek back to the hotel.

When America was finally able to get into his own hotel room, the first thing he did was shuck off the sweatpants. The second thing he did was scream into a pillow.

Alfred lifted his head and looked around the room dizzily. He wanted to call his brother, but he lost his stupid phone and he may never see it again. Groaning, he rolled over to the bedside table and blindly felt for his bottle of Tylenol. Once found, he popped two pills in his mouth and washed it down the with a day old coke. 

Why did he even care, anyways? It’s not like the marriage was valid, he was pretty sure even in Las Vegas you’d still need a license for it to be considered official. And its not like any real national unions would come of it as far as he was aware that involved a lot of congressional action and planning. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he made a big mistake.

Pounding on the door to his hotel room forced Alfred to get out of bed.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” was the first thing his brother asked when he opened the door. “Don’t tell me your phone is dead or its lost,” Matthew added with a scowl, it was a well-known habit of Alfred’s to neither charge nor keep track of his phone.

Alfred stepped aside to let Matthew in, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Matthew, dressed in a finely pressed suit and looking untarnished by the previous night’s events, was staring intently at Alfred.

“Do I want to know whose sweatshirt that is?” he asked, poking at the Cyrillic words spelling ‘Moscow’ at the center of the shirt. “Or about the hickeys on your neck?” he added, staring intently at the dark hickey gracing Alfred’s skin just below the adam’s apple.

“No probably not,” America said with charm. Even with Matthew, who was present during the Great Food Poisoning of Christmas 2012, he felt embarrassed. “Do you remember when I left last night?” he added a bit more meekly.

“No, I left before you, you promised you’d send me a text when you got home safe, but you didn’t,” Matthew said flatly.

_He stumbled down the hall, clinging on to the taller man, arms draped around his neck, whispering sweet nothings in his ears._

_They had fallen unceremoniously on the bed in a heap._

_“I never told—told you- that I –love you? I loved you,” Alfred had gasped, reverent hands pressed onto his chest, feeling, touching. his own toxic voice cooed, “I loved you, I loved you.”_

_“do you still?” Ivan asked, world spinning and definitely too drunk to handle this conversation, his hands gripped feebly at the collar of the other man’s shirt._

_“yes.” Everything stopped, the room stopped moving, their hands stilled, no longer searching for something to grasp. Russia leaned down and- their lips met, slow at first, careful- still unsure- the kiss deepened-_

“-what?” Alfred asked, his attention back on his brother.

“I said you need to get ready for the meeting.”

Alfred nodded warily, walking towards the closet to pull one of his dress shirts out and exchange it with the sweatshirt. “What would you say,” he began, intently buttoning his shirt up, “if I, by chance, spent the night with Russia, and if by chance I also, uh, married him?”

Alfred looked up to see Matthew’s expression twist from one of vague annoyance to that of disbelief. “What?” he demanded, his voice hitching. “Arthur’s going to kill you!”

“yeah, yeah, I know,” Alfred cringed as he adjusted his tie.

Matthew began giggling, “there’s one benefit though, your boss is going to lose his fucking mind.”

Alfred rolled his eyes as he pulled up his slacks, “that’s if he finds out.”

America was certain that he could sweep this all under the rug before their governments would find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote two versions of this chapter, I wasn't sure if I should have them confront the whole 'marriage' thing until later, but I think I'm satisfied with how this one plays out! 
> 
> also Italy and America were talking about this show called "The Circle" which is on Netflix its like a reality competition show

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more chapters!  
> I have not written fanfiction in at least 8 years lmao, so sorry if the writing is not the best, I tried to edit how I said things to add some more variance and make it seem less flat- but I don't know if I achieved that 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, Vegas marriages are such a fun trope to play with, there will be other countries that'll appear in future chapters!


End file.
